


The things not shown

by so_damn_Mishalicious



Series: Witchery AU goodness [13]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotionally Constipated Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Feral Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Apologizes, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Loves Jaskier | Dandelion, Guilt, Hallucinations, Jaskier has a beard, Loss, M/M, Post-Episode: S01E06 Rare Species, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-01
Updated: 2020-05-10
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:54:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23954170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/so_damn_Mishalicious/pseuds/so_damn_Mishalicious
Summary: 'Even with Jaskier back, it isn't exactly like it has been before.More often than not the brunette falls quiet, stays out of reach from Geralt's vision.When he turns around the bard is always there, doing things he has also done before but still it's… different.'---After the disaster on the mountain Geralt and Jaskier quickly make up. At least he thinks they do. Something between them has changed and he cannot put his finger on, what is.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Witchery AU goodness [13]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1686538
Comments: 95
Kudos: 960
Collections: Interesting Character and/or Interesting Relationship Development





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I felt like some angst today and well huh, this came to my mind.
> 
> My wife and friend Atobe, who I dedicate this story to, have requested for a happy end so bear with me :3 it will be worth it in the end

Geralt knew Jaskier wouldn't stay away for long.

Coming down the mountain some hours after the bard's departure, Geralt estimated him to wait at the tavern, keeping Roach company and bragging about the Witcher being an insufferable idiot. Quarrels weren't unusual, each of them had a nasty temper and combined with stubborn pride, it was a dangerous mixture. Few times they had almost thrown hands, but it never spiraled into real violence, just yelling and hissing, throwing insults at each other. They mostly made up silently, sitting out the tension clouding the air, until everything returned to normal. The Witcher was irritated that there was no bard in sight when he reached Roach. The other was probably pouting somewhere, grumbling in a corner with a watered-down ale. It shouldn't take too long for his anger to dissolve. Freeing the reigns from the tree he bound the horse to, he lead her away from this cursed place, that brought him only anger and pain.

A couple days later Jaskier is back, popping up at their side like he hasn't been gone in the first place. Their trail leads south and while he's seated on Roach's back, the bard walks next to them again, flashing a winning smile. "Miss me much?"

Geralt sighs, says nothing in return. He did miss the bard but can't tell him. Not without losing his face. The blessed silence he craved for so long, hasn't been very blessed on afterthought.

Jaskier doesn't seems to mind, fingers dancing over the strings of his lute. "Figured you would! What would your life be without me, than a lonely, boring existence?"

Not much it turns out, with no need for the other to know. Grunting, he pulls on the reigns to slow Roach down a nodge. Like that the bard can keep up more easily.

+++

Even with Jaskier back, it isn't exactly like it has been before. The chatter starts anew, living up to its pre-mountain volume, but more often than not the brunette falls quiet, stays out of reach from Geralt's vision. When he turns around the bard is always there, doing anything he has also done before but still it's… different. It unsettles him to a certain degree and he tries not to let it show.

They sit around the fire together, Geralt carving up a piece of wood, Jaskier just looking at the flames. He sits further from the fire than he used to, seated on the ground. The warmth shouldn't quite reach him there and the brunette normally tended to freeze easily. Cocking his head to the side, the Witcher throws another piece of leftover wood into the fire.

"Stop that."

Jaskier looks at him, blinking in confusion. Geralt averts his eyes and fixes them on the branch in his hands instead.

"Your… whatever. You behave strange. Stop it."

The bard smirks, leaning towards him,

"Worried for me, my dear Witcher? That's awfully thoughtful coming from you."

Grumbling, he returns to the task at hand, saying no more.

+++

Two years go by. The Witcher and the bard being on their own again.

Jaskier refrains from performing ever since his return. He faints ignorance, telling his companion it's enough to play just for him. Geralt doesn't judge. The brunette also leaves the haggling to him these days, only providing witty remarks about how much better Geralt could do, if he really tried. The Witcher shuts him up pointedly, ignoring the confused look of the innkeeper or merchant he's dealing with and leaves.

Contracts leads them towards Cintra's borders and near the Ammell Mountains they encounter the Nilfgaardian army, marching towards the Cintran capital. Their mass almost swallows the ground, a sea of black armours washing over the path. Making haste they reach the city before their arrival. Jaskier stays outside, not wanting to face the lioness again, after what happened at the banquet back then. But Geralt has to go, it's time to claim their child of Surprise and bring it to safety.

Calanthe sees reason and unites him with the girl called Ciri. She's bidding for time to say goodbye to her closest family and he grumpily obliges. He isn't heartless after all. Jaskier waits for him in the yard, leaning against a corner, enquiring what happened. His usually bright face sets in a frown as the Witcher retells the events.

"Sounds a bit of an… anti-climax, doesn't it? I mean with Destiny involved I estimated a bit more of some magical feeling in the air, a force drawing you in or whatever. This feels more like you weren't really destined to meet, rather… someone else?"

The brunette turns around, looks over his shoulder into the courtyard, where a couple kids play a game on the ground. Geralt follows his gaze, confused to see the girl he was promised with, bow to another and it clicks. Once more the queen tries to cheat her way out of fate. With a grim sneer he turns around, stalking towards the throne room with an angry growl.

+++

"Not your best idea, if you're honest."

The bards leans against the grid, looking far too smug for his own good. Geralt meditates in the cell, trying to drown out his snark. It's not especially useful in the moment. Nilfgaard isn't far away and he needs to get out of here. They both do and the princess as well.

Shouting and metal clanging makes them look up in unison. A storm is brewing over the castle, making the air stale with tension and lightning. A guard hurries down the corridor to check if the prisoner is still in place, turning his back to the Witcher in a moment of naiveness. Geralt will surely not let this chance pass.

+++

The wet squelching sound as steel pierces through the Nilfgaardian soldier provides no satisfaction. Geralt is too late, they slaughtered them all. The princess is dead. It's time they leave, get away from the castle.

Jaskier falls in step with him as they follow the tunnels out of the building, felling the soldiers getting in their way. Shame and guilt coil in his gut, turning to rage and nothing seems to help against it. Rounding another corner he breathes fresh air and blue eyes meet his.

"Nilfgaard didn't just come here to avenge an insult. They want something. And they're too clever to let it slide over the edge of a blade."

With Roach's help they escape the massacre and fires to the nearby woods, just as a massive blast of magic spears through the night. It startles the horse, sends them tumbling but Geralt can calm her down, setting out to follow the trail. If the princess is anything like her mother, it can only be her. Means she's alive.

They arrive moments later, with the girl nowhere in sight. The woods are dark, spanning vast and though they search, they find nothing. It may not be the best result but it gives them hope. Cirilla is alive, out there. They just need to find her before Nilfgaard does. Looking at each other again, he nods in silent understanding. They have to hurry or else they're as good as dead.

+++

The stench of rotting corpses pollutes the clearing they near. Roach shakes her head, flicks her ears. She's nervous. And not the only one. The bard catches his lute close to his chest.

"I have a very bad feeling about this, Geralt."

He's right, he often is. Geralt fights against the flock of ghouls, slicing through their bodies but no matter how many fall, there are always more coming. A sharp pain in his leg makes him lash out, piercing through skulls and ribs in the vain hope to make it out alive. At last the Witcher is freed of grabbing hands and snapping jaws but the agonising throb of the poison flooding his system brings him to his knees.

Hardly noticing the cry of "Geralt, don't you dare die on me!" he blacks out, hitting the ground.

There's not much of a chance he will survive that.

+++

Somehow he does. That it involves meeting his mother shouldn't shake him much. She left him on the road for Vesemir to find. For almost five decades they are no family anymore. Still it stings. More than it should.

Jaskier pulls him into a relieved hug upon seeing his recovery, bright eyes swimming in tears. Geralt lets him, indulging in the physical contact for once. "You utter idiot, do you even know how scared I was of losing you for good?"

It felt nice, grounding. The bard was a permanent constant for the last twenty years, a well-sized portion of his life. His best friend and maybe some more. It just took almost dying to realise that.

After reaching Yurga's hut, he finds the princess nearby. Like Jaskier assumed there was more to destiny, a magnetic pull and utter relief when they meet and embrace each other. Geralt takes a moment to bask in the hope blossoming in his chest. The satisfaction not to have failed again. 

Jaskier looms near, smiling in a sheepish way without intruding on the moment. When the two of them let go, he bows with flourish.

"Dearest princess, I'm glad you are alive. Now I think it's better to depart - Kaer Morhen is quite a bit from here and we should make haste to get away."

+++

Ciri is a clever child, wild and feral, matured from the horrors she witnessed. Still she is a child, not more than a teen and the trauma of losing her old life and family cut deep wounds into her heart.

Geralt often sees her waking up at night, crying or sobbing into the dark, shoulders shaking from the onslaught of emotion. Taking the stick he holds out of his hands, Jaskier shoes him away, shooting him a nasty look.

"Go and comfort her, you big oaf. Leave the watch to me. Sweet Melitele, you really need to work on that 'dealing with feelings'-thing of yours."

Grumbling under his breath the Witcher draws closer, careful not to startle the girl. They talk quietly, not too much but enough for her to calm down and he cradles her in his arms, listening to her heartbeat slowing down. Ciri nestles her face on his chest, sniffling from time to time, before her gaze falls besides the fire.

"What is the second bedroll for?"

Geralt hums, not needing to look over to know the bard is still there.

"It's for Jaskier."

Ciri makes a soft sound of recognition, but doesn't say much more. Half an hour later she's asleep again. Geralt is caught in the situation, not wanting to rouse her and sends a somewhat apologetic look towards his companion.

Jaskier just winks, then turns back to the fire, resuming his part of the watch.

+++

Ciri and Jaskier don't interact much, barely at all if he's honest. It worries him a bit. The brunette brushes it off with a shrug, "It took time for me to conquer you heart as well, my Wolf. Give her some space, it will be alright."

They arrive in Kaer Morhen about two weeks later, the keep still as he remembers it. Dangerous and difficult to find, the way there full with monsters and the fortress in dire need of repair. Meeting up with his fellow Witchers is a pleasant moment, feels like coming home, when they draw close to crack jokes and make fun on his behalf. Ciri blends in well with their crude humor, knowing far too much for a girl her age and shoots back to leave them abashed by her wit. Jaskier laughs along, having a merry time seeing them struggle and Geralt happy. Something about that feels just right. Maybe he should have brought the other earlier.

Vesemir takes over Cirilla's schooling, while Coen shows her the way of the blades. They also train a lot together, just the two of them, the Wolf and his cub, and harmonize perfectly. Right now she's sparring with Lambert, both of them hissing and cussing like filthy alley cats and he shakes his head at the shrewd lack of all manners.

Jaskier chuckles. "He's a feisty one, but Ciri will give him a run for his money in no time flat."

Geralt hums, watching them. "We just need to make sure both of them don't get too cocky. Lambert's ego is already at blasting point, we wouldn't want her to go down the same route."

They share a low laugh over his joke, then resume their observation. Out of the corner of his eyes Geralt can see the bard smiling fondly, a relaxed look on his face. Eskel steps closer, strong hand patting his arm. "Geralt, can I talk to you for a second?"

He grunts in response, facing the other, turning his back on Jaskier and the spar. The other Witcher seems weary, unsure what to say,

"So we noticed that you… talk quite a bit to yourself these days. Care to share the reason?"

Geralt furrows his brow, startled by the assumption. "What are you talking about? I'm not talking to myself. I talk to-"

Turning around to point at the bard, he finds himself alone at the side of the training ground. There is no sign he left, no trail of steps retreating, no rustle of fabric indicating his departure. Like he was never there in the first place.

Cold realisation begins to set in.

That's why nobody really seemed to notice the bard. Nobody talked to him besides Geralt. Why he was awake, when the Witcher drifted into meditation and was still, when he came back up.

Jaskier isn't there. Never was, not even once.

Because Geralt sent him away and never cared to go after him, to get him back and apologise. The guilt tormenting his soul and craving for the safety of his closest acquaintance making his mind conjure a mirage to cope with the loss.

Jaskier is gone. Might never come back again. Could be dead by now for all he knows, leaving him all by himself to climb down a monster riddled mountain.

When he comes to his senses again, he's on his knees, Eskel stabilising him with an arm around his chest, telling him to keep breathing, slow and even. Ciri is coming towards them, wild with worry and even Lambert seems to note there's something very much amiss.

Everything seems to draw in on him, the situation slowly suffocating the wolf Witcher. Without missing a beat he scrambles to his feet and runs, fleeing from the scene, aching to be alone. The cold emptiness inside his chest the only companion he knows.

+++

Geralt locks himself into his room, hoping to get to the bottom of the turmoil inside of him. Tries to sleep, tries to meditate. It's without use. Nothing calms the battle raging inside his mind.

He sent Jaskier away, blaming all the misery of his life on the person always with him. The other had been one of the few willing to look behind the cruel reputation of the Witcher and actually look for Geralt. Faced him without prejudice or fear, committing himself to polishing up the poor public image he had for years. Geralt had been nothing but ungrateful, rarely shown kindness in return. All his life he had been told to suppress his feelings, cast them aside. Witcher lives are lonely, they needed nobody and wanted nothing. But he did feel, did want. Though emotionally constipated it was no excuse to act like a dick.

The Witcher sits on a rug, eyes closed and legs crossed, trying his hardest to fall into the calm trance of meditation. Not having eaten or slept for days, wears down his strength but he's too stubborn to give up. Not-Jaskier sits on the edge of the bed, watching him with worry.

"You know, I tried to tell you. But you didn't listen."

He knows, another fault of his. Looking back it is much more obvious.

_'Miss me much?'_

_'Worried for me, my dear Witcher?'_

_'You really need to work on that 'dealing with feelings'-thing of yours.'_

He has been afraid to see the truth.

_This feels more like you weren't really destined to meet, rather someone else?_

Geralt has been a fool, lying to himself all the time. He missed Jaskier, his smile and sunny attitude, his clumsy ramblings and tendencies to find trouble wherever he goes. Nimble hands brushing through his hair, tending to his wounds. Blue eyes looking at him like he's the most beautiful thing in the world.

The ache in his heart proves that he's a lost cause. Somewhere along the twenty years of traveling together, he had fallen for the other and has been too blind to notice.

Jaskier made him a better man. Now it's time to act on that.

Getting to his feet in a fluent motion, the not-bard looks up to him. "Where are you going?"

Grabbing his cloak from the bed, he doesn't stop before reaching the door. 

"Making things right."

+++

The ride to Oxenfurt is torturous, both to him and to Roach. He will need to bribe her with a lot of treats on their return to the keep.

It is a risky move to leave Ciri's side with the danger of Nilfgaard not dealt with, but he can't stand another day of uncertainty. Also she's in the company of four other Witchers, perfectly capable to fight tooth and nail to ensure her safety. That has to be enough until he comes back.

The path is even more dangerous encrusted in ice, slopes of snow and freezing winds cutting through his clothes. Geralt feels the cold in his limbs, followed by a burn in his hands and feet, later loses that to numbness. Still he pushes on, resting only when absolutely necessary, for his poor mare to recover some of her strength. Caressing her flank and feeding her some more oat, the Witcher whispers words of encouragement into her ears. They can't slow down yet. There's still some way to go.

Like that they reach the city of Oxenfurt in less than a week, streets still brimming with people not minding the cold season. Jaskier told him he always wintered here, with the academy he graduated from offering a position as a tutor. The white-haired man hopes that hasn't changed or else he doesn't know what to do.

The academy grounds are rather empty, obviously the students are on leave for the yearly Yule festivities. Drawing the dark cloak closer around his frame, he stalks down the long corridors, ducking his head. Agitated whispers follow in his wake.

_"It's the White Wolf!"_

_"_ **_The_ ** _Geralt of Rivia?!"_

_"Do you think he comes for Dr. Pankratz?"_

Dr. Pankratz. 

It feels strange to hear the bard being addressed by his birth name. Jaskier always resented it, leaving everything behind in his youth to follow his dreams. To follow him then. A sting in his chest make Geralt move faster. It's still not too late.

The Witcher hears him, before he comes into sight. The other is talking to someone, probably an assistant, barely hidden fury in his voice.

"I swear to the gods, if I hear one more word about Valdo Marx and his genius new creation, I'm gonna stab that man in his sleep!"

"B-but, Dr. Pankratz-"

"He's a thief, that is what he is and always will be. A cheap copy cat of-"

Geralt steps into the next hallway and halts, his bard instantly finding his eyes drawn to him. Jaskier stops dead in his tracks, shocked like he's seeing a ghost. He hasn't changed much these two years, still being his youthful, confident self. Besides that he has grown a beard, which is unfamiliar but not entirely unpleasant.

The surprise only lasts a few seconds before it changes to anger and spite.

"Oh well, who have we here? Come to blame someone for further missteps of yours? Sorry Geralt, but I'm afraid I'm busy at the moment, not at all available for any of your witchery nonsense."

It takes less than five strides to cover the distance between them. The assistant, a young girl with red locks and puffy cheeks, shies away from his rapidly approaching form but Jaskier doesn't budge an inch, facing its intensity with a stern glare.

"If you think, you can just come here after two years and act like nothing happened-"

Geralt grabs the man by his shoulders and draws him into an embrace, close enough to make their toes touch. The contact between them makes his breath catch, bottled feelings rising to the surface and he buries his face into the other's shoulder, letting out a shaky sigh.

"I'm so sorry Jaskier, for everything. You've been right back then, it was unfair to you, and you're right now. I have no right to walk up here and bother you, but I'm not going to act like nothing happened."

A tremble runs through the Witcher's body as his emotions overrun him. The bard is warm against his form, still smelling like buttercups, lute resin and warmth. 

The brunette has gone completely still, seemingly puzzled by his outbreak, so he continues,

"I ask not for forgiveness, I don't deserve that. But I come to apologise for ruining our friendship over my hurt pride. You were the only friend I ever had, willing to stay with me, when no one else did and I treated you like shit. I'm sorry Jask, I really am. It took me time to figure it out but… I need you and I missed you."

A small huff comes from the bard and he pats his chest, signaling him to move away.

"Of course you do and now let me go. Dear gods, you are smothering me in that bear hug, you big oaf."

The words hold no bite, a hint of fondness betraying Jaskier's upset demeanour. Geralt does as he's told anyway though reluctantly and gives him free, taking a step back. Blue eyes give him a once over, before there's another louder sigh falling from rosy lips.

"Melitele's sweet hind, how do you survive like that? Can you even remember the last time you slept or ate? You look like shit, Witcher and I mean it. I can't even be away for a while, before you throw all care for yourself out the window. Come now, I cannot let you walk around like that, you'll scare off everyone around. Ulrike, be a sweetheart and get me fresh tea and a plate of hearty food to my office, will you?"

The other takes his wrist and drags him along, grumbling away about stubborn Witchers and their self-harming tendencies. Geralt can't find the strength to resist, the feeling of warm skin on his too pleasant to let go. Following his bard through the halls, he tries to start a conversation.

"So… a beard, huh?"

Jaskier bristles at him over his shoulder, "I don't take criticism from people, who didn't bath in a week or so!"

"Wasn't going to. I like it, it suits you."

A faint flush of colour stains the other's cheeks as he turns around again, not gracing him with another commentary, just keeping up his rant about the Witcher dragging poor Roach into this. A smile tugs on the corners of Geralt's lips, he's trying not to show.

It doesn't feel entirely like before, but they're on a good way.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somehow this has taken my like forever 😂 I know why I prefer to push through writing and just get it done in a day or two... 
> 
> I hope you still like it :) enjoy!

It has been two years since their fallout on the mountain.

Jaskier lost everything that day, his life for twenty-two fucking years crumbling away under his feet. Because the Witcher had his heart broken by the sorceress. Because he couldn't reign in the emotions he feigned not having. Because…

He didn't want Jaskier.

It had been foolish to think he ever had a chance, to hope the other would see what he felt. With all the hurt and repression Geralt suffered through his life, he didn't want to push, shying away from an upfront approach for subtler measures. He treated his friend with patience and kindness, giving him affection others withheld. 

Being with him completed the bard and though it pained him to see Geralt pursuing the Witch, he couldn't blame him. She was beautiful, fierce and strong, clever and furthermost willing to take what she wanted. They'd live a long life together, a power couple, bound in destiny. Jaskier was nothing but a frail human, short-lived and inexperienced in battle, more a lover than a fighter. He had been willing to accept his fate, to stay a companion to the man holding his heart who was happy with another. Better to have a piece of him than to have nothing at all.

The dragon hunt had been chaos, a confusing mix of anger, hurt, lust and longing. It didn't end well for any of them. Having his eyes opened to cruel reality, to what he tried to deny all those years, made him leave. The last thing he wanted to be remembered as was being a notorious nuisance to the Witcher. He left, because his heart could only take so much.

He only stopped once by the mountain's foot, bidding goodbye to dear Roach, fingers caressing through her fur while she nuzzled his side. He remembered pressing his face against her neck, her body warm against his cheek and begging her to take good care of the Witcher in his stead. Roach had whinnied quietly, patiently waiting through the petting, while hot tears stained her pelt in dark blotches.

+++

The road to Oxenfurt gave him time to think.

First there had been sadness, tears spilling from his eyes and down his face, relentless in coming forth, not stopping. Day after day he found himself tearing up anew though he tried his hardest not to think about what was lost. It wasn't very successful, considering a part of their adventures clung to his back, reminding him of how it all began.

Then came anger, rising up hot in his veins, making his temper boil. He thought of so many things he could have said or wanted to say if he ever saw the white-haired man again. To yell at him, for casting him aside like an unwanted sword, old and rusty from years of usage and exchanged for a newer, shinier model though it still served his purpose well. During that time he had been very unpredictable, even got involved in a bar brawl after a patron didn't take no for an answer for his request of hearing songs about the White Wolf. It left him with a chipped tooth and a lost place to spend the night but he didn't play the songs. He wouldn't ever again. Also the other's nose looked pretty broken and somehow that satisfied something deep inside of him.

Last there was resignation, a cold acceptance for the way things were. He had grieved the loss of his heart, would do so for more time. But there was nothing he could do to change that. He couldn't return to Geralt's side, not after all the man said. If the bard was making him miserable, he'd rather stay away and be alone, then to impose on the person he considered a friend ever again. Feeling hollow and incredibly exhausted, he stepped into the city of Oxenfurt. Came home after all those years, with nothing but the pack he carried and a heart left in shambles.

+++

The university was overjoyed by his return, hastily arranging for his rooms to be prepared again. Jaskier pleaded them not to bother too much, not willing to take over courses right away. He still needed time to heal, to find new strength and purpose in the life he started now. The headmaster granted him this one request and he couldn't be more grateful. Watching the academy grounds out of his window felt like the times he had been studying here, fooling his way through lectures, luring everyone into thinking he was but a lost cause. Naturally he wasn't and passed the final with flying colours, left the committee in stunned silence while he swaggered out of the room. Maybe he could find that again, here. Feeling something.

His first class started small, only a few chosen pupils attending his lecture. They were young and brimming with energy, eager to learn and set out into the world. It made him smile for the first time in months, to see them hanging on his lips. It felt good to be respected, to be wanted for a change. The cracks left in his soul started to mend, slowly but surely. 

+++

Two years make him more into the man he has been before. He decided to grow a beard because he has changed after all. Jaskier is still the same and someone else at the same time. He sings, he plays, he teaches. Just that the songs are new, not about a certain Witcher. Also Filavandrel's lute is stored away in a casket, stuffed out with silk to keep her safe, while he uses a common one for daily practice. 

Jaskier's new routine is filled with lectures, music, fine wine on feasts and laughter. Getting in quarrels with that scoundrel Valdo Marx, watching the stars at night and composing. Without a muse it's harder, but he manages well. It's peaceful and good and dreadfully boring after living on the path for so long. Every so often his eyes flicker over the campus, searching for something, a hint of a dark cloak or silver hair. During these two years Geralt never sought him out and maybe it is time to quit hoping for good.

Then this one day, where he's determined to kill that Marx bastard should he  _ ever  _ copy from him again and declare it his own, there's the Witcher standing right in front of him. The visual makes him freeze, mulling over the possibility of his mind playing a trick on his senses. An image conjured by his subconscious, like the memories that haunt him in his dreams. But no, he's real - Ulrike sees him too. Geralt of Rivia has come to Oxenfurt. After two years of silence, he's just standing there, saying nothing.

A familiar spark of anger flares up in his soul and he just snaps. There's no way he's putting up with that bullshit again. He wouldn't survive his heart being broken anew.

Then time seems to stop around him as Geralt pulls him into a hug - a very tight one - squeezing almost a bit too hard to keep breathing properly. Jaskiers heart hammers, body stiff from shock. The Witcher talks - a lot considering his usual verbal output - and shivers against his body. From emotion or the cold he can't make out.

His anger deflates upon seeing the poor condition the other is in. He looks like he hasn't slept for days, let alone eaten anything. Also he smells and urgh… this is definitely something he hasn't missed about their life together. Putting some distance between them, he gives him another once over. Definitely worse for wear. Jaskier wants to sigh in exasperation. The White Wolf is more of a huge disaster than he over expected him to be. But he apologised, groveled even a bit so the brunette relents in his cold demeanour.

"Ulrike, be a sweetheart and get me fresh tea and a plate of hearty food to my office, will you?"

In a hallway, right on target for prying eyes and gossiping colleagues, there's no room to talk. So he takes the Witcher elsewhere, the white-haired man following him like a good puppy.

+++

Something is definitely wrong with Geralt.

The man hasn't complained once on the way to his office, gives proper answers and even complimented him? If he's faced with a confession of love or an expression of fondness for his singing next, he's sure he's dealing with a Doppler.

Until the food arrives he brings the Witcher into the bathroom near his quarters, to get rid of the grime sticking to him, ushering him inside. He shouldn't be weakened enough to need assistance, so Jaskier gets him a soft shirt and durable pants from the laundry stash, that he sets out for the other to find. Once Geralt exits the room, hair still damp from the water, they move on to his office. The tea and a platter with a good mix of cheese, bread and meats wait on a tray on top of his desk.

The bard sits, signing his companion to do the same and feigns nonchalance, busying himself with reading essays his students turned in a week ago. Though blue eyes roam over the written lines, not a single word registers in his mind. Looks like he is just the same old fool he has always been.

"So, to what do I owe the honor of your unexpected visit?"

It doesn't take too long for the Witcher to finish off the food. Though Jaskier can see him hesitate and try to slow down, he's far too hungry to quench the instincts beaten into the man in gruesome training. Geralt takes his time, fumbling with the right words in this conflicted situation.

"I… missed you."

The honesty swinging along these words makes his heart ache, so he hides it quickly. Snorting, the bard fills two porcelain mugs with the freshly brewed tea. He stands from the chair across his desk to do so.

"Yes of course, this has to be it. It's not like you miss people before they are gone for two whole years." handing one mug of tea to the Witcher, he voices the suspicion lingering in his mind, 

"She left you again, didn't she? And now you come to me, so I can pat your back while you lick your wounds?"

He's being unfair, but he's also hurt. He hurt for so long, never having a chance of letting Geralt know how much damage he inflicted with his rejection.

Geralt shakes his heads. "No I haven't seen Yennefer since the mountain. She didn't want to see me again, I respect her wish."

_ Of course he does, she's special after all. _ Jealousy is an ugly bitch, raising its head. The bard tries to shove the feeling aside.

"Then what is the true reason? Does a contract bring you here and you need a bait to attract the beast? Do you need money or an easy way into court?"

Amber eyes turn towards the ground, hiding before the storm in the angry blue. 

"No, I need nothing like that. All I wanted was to apologise, I meant what I said. I hurt you, badly, and you deserved better."

A strange feeling bubbles inside him, a little tingle rising up to his chest. Jaskier clears his throat, hoping to smooth over the misstep in front of heightened Witcher senses.

_ Oh foolish heart, be quiet, don't betray the lesson we learned. It will only bring us more pain. _

"This doesn't answer the question, Geralt. Why come here after two years?"

A faint flush stains the Witcher's cheeks and he looks away in embarrassment. The bard feels strangely enthralled by the sight, cocking his head. He always assumed Witcher were incapable of blushing. Obviously he has been wrong.

"Because I thought you were with me during that time and I just recently realised you weren't."

Jaskier's puzzled look urges the other to explain, 

"I… I thought we met again, a week after the mountain. You were there, you laughed and sang and… you stayed with me. We went after contracts just like before, traveled like we always had. Returning to Kaer Morhen it was brought to my attention that I was talking to myself the whole time. It… shook me."

Taking a sip from the tea to calm his nerves and soothe his throat, Geralt still doesn't dare to meet his eyes. 

"The guilt of chasing away my best friend and the need for your company tricked my mind into thinking you were still there. It was probably mixed with the hope you'd want to be with me again."

A pause follows and finally golden eyes look up to meet those blue orbs he came to know so well. "That you'd want me again."

All words fail him in that moment, a stunned silence stretching between them. Since when is this about him wanting Geralt? He had wanted him for so long, still does. But the Witcher never.. he didn't... or did he?

Jaskier feels like his feet lose contact to the ground, swapped away with emotion. His lips and throat are dry and raw, taking a sip from his own cup soothes nothing about it. Sitting down on the edge of the desk to prevent his knees giving out under him, the bard mulls over the words said.

"So you say for this whole time you  _ imagined _ me being there with you, because you missed me and didn't find the courage to come here and apologise?"

The white-haired man looks away again, ashamed and indignant about his mistake, like a child caught while stealing a cookie. That's strangely endearing as well and seeing his friend so shy brings a small smile to his face. 

"Shame we didn't meet after that again. Just imagine the mental torment not- me and myself could unleash on you if we joined forces."

They share an amused moment, huffing to themselves. The tension between them eases somewhat. Jaskier slumps a little - he definitely needs a stronger drink for this. Getting up, he walks over to a cabinet near the wall, opening it and rummaging through.

"Though it's flattering to know you'd rather travel with imaginary me than alone, you're not forgiven yet. These things you said... I don't want to pretend they didn't happen."

Finding two tumblers and a bottle of vodka, he takes them out, balancing them on his hands and arm.

"Nevertheless I'm not heartless and might be swayed into agreeing to give it another try. You would need to work for that though."

Jaskier turns around, mouth opening to say some more and stops. Geralt is still sitting in the chair, form now sunken in and snoozes, fallen asleep from the strain put on his body and the knowledge he's safe here. The bard can't help but smile, shaking his head. Can one believe this man?

He takes the glasses and the bottle to his desk, setting them down on the surface before turning to his comrade. The Witcher's head lolls to the side a bit, displaying his handsome features and strong jawline in plain sight, ready to be caressed if he just dares to reach out. The brunette struggles, trying to fight the urge but can't refrain from moving his hand. His nimble fingers flutter over smooth skin, warmed by the bath and over the stubble growing on the lower half of Geralt's face, not yet shaved away.

As long he can remember their touches had always been limited to most basic ones, no more than necessities. Enough for caring for wounds or scrubbing of the grime of a hunt but never more. Convincing the other to give into letting the bard tending to his white hair or to work out the tension of his muscles had been a protracted but ultimately successful process. Still the younger longs for more, a tender and genuine thing and he doubts the other man can give him that. Can open up and trust him not to exploit any weakness shown. It's a reasonable, yet sad thought while he caresses the lines of Geralt's face.

Would he be able to deal with another rejection in case things get rough again? When they fall into their old habits, old routines?

Jaskier doesn't know the answer. There are things he is sure about. Their ability to keep changing for better for each other's sake is not one of them.

But there is something inside him, yearning for more, begging him to try. To return to the life he had and enjoyed so much, before it went to shit.

Two wolves battle inside his chest and there's no winner determined yet.

One thing  _ is  _ for sure: Geralt cannot stay where he is. Like this he'll wake up with a aching neck and the last thing he needs now is a disgruntled Witcher to take care of. Stopping his moving fingers, they still close to the other's mouth, not really touching the plump skin of slightly parted lips. The temptation to steal a tiny taste from the sweet mouth comes in a sudden rush and washes over him, a hot wave of longing and shame for wanting to do that to someone not able to consent. When has he fallen that low to even consider giving in? 

Jaskier is weak and wanting even after two years. Nothing seems to have changed, the wish to be close to the Witcher flaring up anew. Like an addiction he thought he had overcome, now leading to his downfall after a fresh fix.

His heart races and the bard closes his eyes to calm himself. The hand lingering on the firm jaw falls down to Geralt's shoulder, careful in its touch to avoid startling the man.

"Geralt, wake up. This is so like you, ditching a conversation by simply falling asleep."

Jaskier's voice is amused but his smile ceases a bit as he takes in the Witcher's fingers, folded in his lap. Even after the bath they're still an angry red, a sign of nasty frostbite. Brushing the sting in his heart to the side, he turns back to his friend that blinks sluggishly. Sweet gods, he has to be really tired for his witchery senses not to kick in. There's no way the bard can leave him alone like that.

"Come with me, my room is just next door. There you can lay down properly."

The other just grunts in response, like he always tended to do, and the younger helps him to get to his feet, guiding him into the chamber, a hand nestled between strong shoulder blades. Jaskier can barely shimmy him out of the clothes and boots before Geralt collapses on the mattress, so he pulls the covers over him with a fond huff. Just as he's about to turn and leave, there's a soft sound cutting through the silence.

"Wait please…" golden eyes are dimmed with the urge to sleep, fighting to stay open for a little more, "lie down… with me?"

A deep sigh leaves Jaskier's throat. How is he supposed to refuse that request with the Witcher looking at him like a lost pup? So ditches his doublet and boots, slipping under the covers with just his pants and undershirt on, lying on his belly to face his partner. There's always time to do some grading later.

The usual heat of Geralt's body seeps through the sheets and the brunette closes his eyes. This was one thing he dearly missed. Sleeping with someone by your side, enjoying the warmth brought with it. A hand comes to rest on top of his but before Jaskier can open his eyes again, the other's have already fallen shut. They lie together like that, roughly an hour with Jaskier watching over his love's slumber, before he drifts off as well.

Maybe there is one wolf winning the battle. He has the feeling, it will be a white one.

+++

"And you're sure you cannot accompany me to the keep?"

Jaskier nods, trying hard not to be swayed in his decision by the sorrowful expression on Geralt's face. Though he's seated on Roach again, towering over his figure, he holds no upper ground with his slumped shoulders and dipped chin. The bard smiles apologetically.

"Unfortunately yes. Unlike others I cannot simply storm away in a wild chase of emotion. I have classes to finish and students to mark. They rely on me to prepare them, before strutting out into the world, wherever it may lead. I need to finish this properly or face the irksome wrath of many artists and believe me - that's nothing you'll ever want. Go down in history with a nose never drawn right or poems shaming you? No, thank you."

Another reason is that he wants to take time for himself. To sort out this matter, prepare for it physically and emotionally. During the last twenty years most things happening were about Geralt. Even most of his thoughts had involved the man. He had jumped every time when asked to. A bard hopelessly devoted to love.

This time he'd still be devoted but with the reigns still in his hands. To protect them both in case it should go awry again.

Geralt nods, face set in a grim mask but golden eyes betraying the swirl of emotion behind that. Jaskier pats his thigh, firm under his touch, like he's soothing a twitchy horse.

"Oh come on, don't give me that sour look. Spring is coming soon and once you return from the unnecessary long and dangerous climb to Kaer Morhen with our dear child, I'll join you again. Give my poor body a rest, I'm well past forty and can use a little pampering."

The joking lightens the mood a little and even around the Witcher's lips dances the tiniest hint of a smile. Giving the muscles beneath his palm a reassuring (and appreciative) squeeze the brunette adds,

"Give us a kiss, silly and off you go. There's a cub waiting for you that needs your attention."

The silver-haired man looks genuinely surprised but obliges, leaning down to him while he stretches to his tiptoes. They meet in a weird angle but the kiss is still amazing. All soft and sweet, filled with emotion. Something in the bard never wants to let go. He knows he has to, but for this moment he can pretend there's no need. Jaskier gives the arm snaking around his waist a playful slap, to keep the Witcher away from the idea of hoisting him up and simply galloping off.

Parting again he takes a last look into those amber orbs and smoothes his thumb over a high cheekbone in the face of the man he loves. Jaskier hasn't really noticed bringing his hand up, so entranced was he by their kiss. His voice fails him once more, being whisper-soft instead of confident as he wishes it would be.

"Please take care on your way back. No break-neck stunts like the one coming here, understood?"

Geralt nods and their lips touch once more, fanning the flames to throw his plans overboard and just go with him. But Jaskier just can't, not yet. One day maybe, one day that's not today.

The bard just stands there and watches as the other vanishes slowly from sight, this time equipped with a proper winter coat and enough supplies to last for the journey to Kaer Morhen. A few snowflakes tangle in brown locks, a cold wind dusting over the academy ground. He stands there and watches because spring is coming closer day by day and they'll have another chance. A chance to make it right this time. Neither ice nor snow can get to him during this moment.

Because for the first time in two years he feels truly warm again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It might no be the exact happy ending you guys have been waiting for but I guess it's better than none 😂? Jaskier being a bit more cautious and wiser now?
> 
> I'm grateful for feedback in the comments 💜 so pls don't hesitate to let me know, what you think!!

**Author's Note:**

> I also planned a sad ending which would involve Jaskier being dead, never returning to Oxenfurt from the mountain after being ambushed and left for dead, bleeding out alone besides the path and now Geralt can only apologise to his grave, breaking over the guilt of having his bard's blood on his hands
> 
> BUT luckily we could avoid that 😂 and also Jaskier looks now a bit more like Game Dandelion. I think he would wear it well.
> 
> Feedback is always appreciated in the comments 💖


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